


Fatum

by leopoldjamesfitz



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1616270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopoldjamesfitz/pseuds/leopoldjamesfitz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Castle," she tightens her grip on his wrist and she tugs it away from the dip of her back, licking her lips. Her eyes dance around the room, as though she's trying to find someone who is staring at them a bit too intently. "Come with me." She tells him, her eyes flickering to meet his as the corner of her lips curve into a mischievous smirk. (Because 6x23 didn't happen) AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fatum

**Disclaimer: If I was Milmar, I would probably have a lot of money and wouldn’t need to write fanfic because I would be busy writing episodes.**

* * *

 

She curls her fingers around his wrist, his palm flat against her back as they dance slowly, surrounded by people who are in their own worlds. A contented sigh slips through her lips and his lips brush against her temple as she snuggles closer, breathing in his scent.   
  
They are _married_.  
  
“Castle,” she tightens her grip on his wrist and she tugs it away from the dip of her back, licking her lips. Her eyes dance around the room, as though she’s trying to find someone who is staring at them a bit too intently. “Come with me.” She tells him, her eyes flickering to meet his as the corner of her lips curve into a mischievous smirk.  
  
He lets her tug him where she wants, ascending up the stairs and down the hall before she hears giggles behind her and she catches the eye of Isabel, her young cousin and their flower girl, staring up at them from the corner. The little girl covers her mouth as she stares at them, barely stifling laughter. Kate feels her heart warm some, thinking of the years in the future and how soon, maybe, they’d have one of their own.  
  
“Iz,” his voice is gentle as he greets her. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs with the guests?”  
  
“So should you!” She tells them, as if they don’t know, as if there’s a plausible reason to describe to an eight year old why on earth the bride and groom – the guests of honour – would be sneaking up to the master. “Gramma is downstairs looking for you.” Her eyes narrow on Kate and the woman blushes as she ducks her head. She’d purposefully been hiding from her Aunt Theresa; she had her reasons.  
  
“She’s probably looking for you too.” She nods her head. “Go back downstairs. Rick is just showing me a gift he got me.” She licks her lips and glances at her husband, her heart swelling at the word. God, she married him. “For the wedding.”  
  
The little blond girl doesn’t seem to buy it fully, but she ushers herself away and as soon as she’s down the stairs, Kate’s tugging him down the hall to a spare bedroom she had no idea existed and locks the door behind them. She pushes him back against the door and presses her mouth against hers before he can conjure up a smartass comment about history repeating itself.  
  
His hands fall to her hips, pressing through layers of lace as his hands find the outline of her lithe frame. His mouth falls open, her tongue easily finding access to the depths and he moves his hands around to the back of her dress, thumbing for the zipper that he knows that’s there, but there’s no absolute location. “Castle,” she murmurs unhappily. “Let me.”  
  
She steps back from him and his hands seek her body again but she swats them away as she slides one hand to her side and tugs down on the zipper. _I would have never guessed it’d be there_ , he thought to himself, an impressed reaction tugging at his lips as she slips her arms out of the dress and lets it slip to the floor. Her eyes meet his briefly before she steps out of the lace and lifts it onto a chair beside the bed.  
  
His mouth falls open as he takes in the sight before him. It’d been pretty obvious through the course of the day that she had gone without a bra, the back lacing of the dress making it a little impossible, and that thought had drove him to insanity and back several times. Especially during dinner when her fingers had curled against his inner thigh and deliberately brushed across his crotch as she retracted.  
  
But the lack of panties – that was most certainly a surprise.  
  
“What’s wrong, Castle?” She teases, fingering the baby blue garter she’s wearing. (When Martha had given her the earrings earlier, she’d accepted them and let the woman pretend she wasn’t already wearing something blue.) “Cat got your tongue?”  
  
He advances toward her, shedding his stuffy tuxedo jacket and tugging off the god forsaken tie Alexis insisted upon and they’re both somewhere on the ground behind him as she wraps her arms around his neck and his hands fall to her thighs, hooking them around his waist as he begins to walk toward the bed. He lifts a knee and presses it against the bed as he lowers her back against it, his lips finding solace against her creamy neck.  
  
She lets out a contented sigh, the same and yet so different from the sigh he heard earlier as her deft fingers begin to work at the buttons on his shirt. He’s tempted to tell her to rip it off, tell her that he’s never going to need it again. (That she’s his third time’s a charm.) But it’s too corny and cliché and he bites his tongue. He dips his lips into the crook of her neck and his hands slide up and down her sides, fingertips grazing her breasts and she arches her back toward his touch instinctively.  
  
There’s a rush, he knows, because it’s not going to be too long before someone – specifically his mother or Alexis – learns the bride _and_ the groom are missing and come to investigate. But there’s something in the way that his wife is laying beneath him that he just wants to spend hours and hours at this, taking care of her, making her pant and scream and cry out of pleasure. That’s later, he knows, but right now he takes his time and lets his tongue dip between her collarbones as she pops the last button out of his shirt and pushes it off his shoulders.

The move to get it off is anything but graceful. He throws it on the ground next to them so rough that the slap against the hardwood flooring and she chokes out a laugh as she dips back into the bed, feeling his breath against her chest as he hovers gently over her. His hands dip low, moving past her stomach and belly button and between her thighs as his finger dips lower, lower, _lower_.  
  
Her lips part in a moan as he dips a single digit inside of her. “God, Kate.” He muses, licking his lips hungrily. “You’re so wet already. It’s a good thing you went without the panties.”  
  
She wants to smack him, but she’s too riled up and she grinds her crotch against his hand in an attempt to get it to do something other than sit there, finger dipped into her depths. He rolls his finger around inside of her and pulls it out slowly, popping the digit into his mouth as he eyes her.  
  
His bright blue eyes have significantly darkened and she pushes to sit up, but his palm is flat against her chest, laying her there as he stands and removes his belt and slacks, letting them fall against the floor. He steps out of them, his shoes following and she pushes forward as he kneels back on the bed and catches her hand before it can reach for his boxers and she whimpers a little. “No,” he says simply, reaching behind him to grab the tie between his hands. He winds it around both of his hands and moves back toward the bed.  
  
“Castle…” her lips purse outward and he winks at her, as he grabs both of her wrists and binds them above her head as his lips dip to meet hers.  
  
She runs her tongue along his lower lip and pushes it through, running it along his as she moans and his mouth opens, swallowing the sound. Their lips move together while his hands take the end of the tie not attached to her wrists and tie it against the headboard. When she makes a sound of displeasure, he breaks their kiss and glances down at her.   
  
“Castle,” she murmurs a little more forcefully, tugging at the restraints. “Untie me.” She adds, because suddenly this is _so_ not going the way she planned and she just needs to be able to touch him and feel him on her skin and inside of her while they both undulate against one another to release.   
  
He seems to take in her words, drawing a finger down her stomach as he watches her through hooded lids. Then, pressing his palms between her thighs, he spreads them and dips his head, tongue dragging against her labia. “No,” he says after a moment. “I’m _appreciating_ my wife.”  
  
If he hadn’t called her his wife, and if she hadn’t dissolved into a puddle of goo at the word, she thinks she might argue with him as he pins her thighs apart and dips his tongue again, tracing letters against her clit. She pants softly, trying to read what he’s trying to tell her and then it clicks; he’s writing _I love you_ again and again, like a mantra, like a prayer, like a promise.  
  
He’s promising to love her always, like he had not so long ago, standing in front of a crowd, promising his life to her (as if she didn’t already know).

He spreads her folds with the back of his finger, dipping deep inside of her as her toes curl and she moans, back arching at his ministrations. Her hands grip the tie, tugging it unsuccessfully again and again, in a wild attempt to pull it away from the headboard and regain control, but he’s got the knots too perfectly tied. For someone who was never a boy scout, she’s impressed by the way he knows how to tie a knot.  
  
The back of her head presses deeper into the sheets and she has to curse whatever magical thing he’s doing with her tongue because there’s no way she’s going to be able to salvage the hair but the moment his mouth wraps around her clit, tongue continually tracing letters, her mind is in a completely different place and she holds onto the feeling of her impending release.  
  
Her walls begin to flutter around his finger, and he presses in another, curling his fingers so his knuckles brush against the roof with every thrust. She squirms above him, hips buckling and hands tugging and he presses a hand against her lower abdomen to keep her in place as he continues his work. When she thrusts her hips forward again, he breaks away and lifts his gaze. “Kate,” he clicks his tongue. “Patience.”  
  
She doesn’t get a moment to consider his words before his mouth is wrapped back around the bundle of nerves at her center, fingers twisting and curling inside of her as he thrusts. She wants to make him move faster and slower all at the same time and she’s so indecisive with what she really wants suddenly. When her walls begin to clamp down, the pool of heat building in her abdomen growing to a sharp spark, she rides the waves of her orgasm as they begin and lets the moans flow freely through her pursed lips.  
  
Her body becomes rigid as her hips thrust forward. He doesn’t stop his motions, humming some tune she’s sure she’s heard before but the world around her is suddenly so foggy. When he finally pulls away, she collapses against the sheets, her chest heaving for air that no longer filled her lungs.

“Castle,” she forces out finally, though she’s still panting as she tugs at her restraints. “Untie me.”

He seems to contemplate her words as he cleans his fingers and moves up the bed again, a thigh on each side of her. Her eyes flicker to where he’s straining against his boxers and she wants to touch him, wrap her mouth around him and give him what he gave her but the moment her the tie is freed from the bed, she’s on her stomach and it’s tied back again and she whimpers as she feels the weight of the bed shift and she turns her head to watch him as he pulls his boxers off his legs and kick them to the side, resuming his place on the bed beside her.  
  
He grabs her thighs with his hands, kneading them between his fingertips as she pulls herself up, holding onto the headboard as he crawls behind her. “Please,” she murmurs as he places his hands and holds onto her hips, lips ghosting her neck. “Untie me, Castle.” She murmurs, begging almost. “Please.”   
  
He shakes his head and nips her skin as he slides a hand down her front, fingers teasing her sore nub while his other hand works at spreading her legs apart, guiding himself to her entrance. She tries to beg again, pushing her lips apart to plead her case, but his hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her forward shocks her train of thought away and as he drags his throbbing erection across her labia, she lets out a shuddering breath.   
  
“Please,” she murmurs finally, but it’s for a different reason from before. She grinds her hips against his, hearing his hiss of satisfaction causes her to do it again, and again until he’s holding her hips in place and she’s whimpering. “Castle, for the love of God, we don’t have much-“ before she can finish her sentence, he pushes inside of her and her words fall into a gasp as he begins to undulate against her.

She holds onto the headboard while his fingers dig into her hips, his lips dancing across her shoulders as they begin the dance, slowly and surely. They know the movement; know exactly how it works and how it doesn’t. His hand reaches, tugging a pin from her hair and tossing it to the side. Her hair falls out in a wild array of unruly curls and he fists a handful, tugging her head back toward him, his lips pressing against her cheek and jaw.  
  
Her hips rock against his, whimpers falling from her lips at each thrust that hits that spot inside of her. Her walls begin to flutter again, the familiar coil of heat rising and she gasps softly as she feels it grow.  
  
Her release comes faster than she can imagine, and she’s blinded by the feeling of ecstasy as she falls apart, her walls clamping around his impressive length. He doesn’t falter, his fingers making red marks into her skin as he pushes harder through her contracting walls, her release a catalyst to his. He continues to thrust into her until he stills, buried deep within her velvety heat, and spills into her.  
  
He collapses against her, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as she holds onto the headboard for support. Even as he grows soft inside of her, her muscles continue to contract, numbing to the feeling of orgasms that have yet to come. Three weeks in the Maldives Islands… she can’t wait.  
  
He presses kisses against her back, her body the only thing holding them up at this point and she murmurs something incoherent against the wood of the headboard as he presses his body flush against hers. “We should get dressed again,” he murmurs, fingers dipping down to play with the untouched garter. “But we still have so much more to do with this.”  


* * *

A/N: So, 6x23 didn’t happen right? It was a joke. It had to be. I’m convinced it is. So, here’s to me living in denial and writing smut about their honeymoon like it’s actually happening. Like he’s not missing in action and she thinks he’s dead : ))))

twitter: katherincastle  
tumblr: veraflynns

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfiction.net can go suck my metaphorical dick. I'm so sick of them. They just deleted this without preamble. (Or maybe there was some. I don't give a fuck.)


End file.
